Prisoners
by ThickerThanBlood
Summary: Michael was not a man prone to denial...but there were some things he wanted so much that he couldn't help but deny. SaraMichael 4chapter romance
1. Time

I own nothing...

The truth is rarely pure and never simple. - Oscar Wilde

* * *

Prisoners

Michael was not a man prone to denial. With his psychological condition, it was just about literally impossible. But there were some things that were so hopeless and he wanted so bad that he couldn't help but deny.

Like Sara Tancredi.

Simply the fact that she felt the need to clear up their relationship as 'strictly professional' was a vivid indication. The hurt he read in her eyes after witnessing he and his 'wife' could have gotten through to even a heartless bastard like Abruzzi.

Still he denied it. No one could love him. And besides, think about what it would mean to the plan. If she fell for him, he'd for sure let her too deeply into him, and she'd figure it all out. God, she was smart. She was beautiful, too, and compassionate…she was perfect in ever sense of the word.

Yet another reason she could never love him. Sara could have anyone she wanted, why on earth would she choose an unlovable convicted felon?

So there it was all laid out on the table. He smiled to himself in the darkness of his cell, though it was a hollow smile. He had it all figured out. He would resist making jokes and flirting with her. He would not smile, not laugh, and most definitely he would not look her in the eye, for it would shatter his flimsy self control.

Michael drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his eyes to slide shut. Sucre snorted in his sleep above him, and Michael chuckled as he pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Time. Damn this thing. If only there was a little more time. Michael wouldn't have to push, rush, stress, clench his teeth and curse under his breath. He could deal with the obstacles rationally. If only there was a little more time.

He could see her once more. For just a little longer. But after his next visit, he would be gone forever, and Sara would never see him again. Would she be sad that he left? Hopefully not. That would mean their relationship was based on nothing but the shivers a smolderingly sexy con elicited from a lonely woman. Maybe she would be angry. Michael furrowed his brow as he acknowledged hope. He hoped she would be angry at him after he left. That would mean he had really gotten to her. She would be hurt that he lied to her. That would mean she had attached herself to him. The way he had attached himself to her. Michael swallowed hard and pushed the thought from his mind with all the fervor he'd put into planning his brother's escape. Deny, deny, deny…maybe even he would begin to believe his lies.

The CO escorted him to the infirmary for the very last time. As he drew nearer to the white door, his heartbeat increased. She passed in front of the glass, and his steps faltered.

"Watch your feet, Scofield." The CO warned unenthusiastically. Michael muttered something in reply, but thankfully he didn't catch it.

"Afternoon, Michael." Sara offered coldly, not bothering to even look him in the eye.

"Afternoon." He replied forcedly as he drew himself onto his designated chair and pulled his sleeve up past his elbow. Sara had already prepared his shot in order to minimize the time she had to spend in his presence. She just reached into her cabinet, retrieved the hypodermic needle and injected it into his arm. Michael held his breath when she drew near, and he noted how rigid her features and her body became. He tried not to acknowledge disappointment.

"I'll see you later." Sara glanced up to meet his gaze momentarily, which had fixed on her face despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on the far wall. She turned her back to him, something she never would have done with any other inmate, further proving how open and trusting she became with him. It was an action meant to hurt him. She was giving him the cold shoulder, closing herself off from him.

"Sara, wait." Michael blurted, not really knowing what he was going to say next, just that he couldn't let this go on.

"It's –"

"Doctor Tancredi, I know. I forgot." He corrected, sliding to his feet and holding his hands out. Just hear me out, he plead. "All these questions, I'll answer them for you, I promise."

"No, Michael-"

"Sara, you can know me." Michael insisted, and Sara didn't object again. He took a step toward her, and her eyes shot from his to the floor. Michael stopped and hung his head. Why did he think he could ever reason with her? What could he possibly say to make her believe him?

What did he want to make her believe, anyway? All the lies he's been feeding her? Was he going to tell her the truth? The plan? No, he would never betray his brother. What did he want Sara to believe, then? There was only one other truth to his entire existence in Fox River. And he was still denying it.

"I can't know you, Michael." Sara spat bitterly, her brown eyes flamed with anger that could only have sprung from one emotion.

"Why not?" He returned, fevered, sweat prickling his brow, his breath heaving.

Sara let out a shrill staccato laugh, humorless, and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She just shook her head.

"We're done here, Michael. I'll see you later." Sara said as she turned around again, the coldness had seeped back into her voice, slightly malicious, now. Great, Michael thought. I try to make things better and it only gets worse.

So, Michael resigned to his cell. Sucre had let out a loud exclamation of laughter upon seeing his celly return, but quickly capped his enthusiasm.

"Hey, man," Sucre gently began again after a few moments of silence. "We getting out tomorrow night. Why ain't you a little more excited?"

"I don't know, Sucre. I should be, shouldn't I? I'm saving my brother's life." Michael replied flatly, and didn't say another word all night. Sucre respected Michael's need to brood, and didn't ask questions, though he was observant enough to suspect the reason.

* * *

My first Prison Break fic, so be gentle with me, please. Constructive criticism and praise only...

All are not cooks who walk with long knives. - unknown

Love, Aleks


	2. Prisoners

Sin writes histories. Goodness is silent. –Thomas Fuller

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Prison Break and am making no profit.

* * *

Seven hours. Michael was counting down. Staring at his watch. Lying to himself. Making excuses for the emptiness, the sadness he felt despite Sucre's jovial whistling and the fact that he was going to save his brother today.

He tried focusing on the good points. And there were many, he counted them on his fingers. LJ would have his father, Michael would get to keep the only family he had, Sucre could finally marry Maricruz…

Speaking of Sucre, it took Michael a moment to realize he had stopped whistling. When he looked up he was greeted by a fearsome bellow and Sucre's contorted face as he reeled back and released a punch to Michael's cheek. He was thrown from his bunk where he sat, into the sink.

"Sucre what the hell!" He shouted, cradling his head.

"Oh, buddy, you got one hell of a scrape there." Sucre said surprisingly sympathetic and with a hint of laughter lacing his voice. Michael looked up to him questioningly. "You're probably gonna have to get that looked at." He added with a grin and a wink. "We need a CO up here!" Sucre shouted, and the click of polished shoes was soon heard. A half smile grew slowly across Michael's face.

The cell door slid open loudly, and a CO stood there.

"What the hell did you do to him, Sucre?"

"We were just wrestling, officer, honest." Sucre shrugged, struggling to suppress his grin.

As Michael passed him to follow the CO to the infirmary, Michael murmured, "You coulda picked something less painful."

"What fun would that be?" Sucre yelled after him, once his cell had been locked again.

* * *

Sara read the same sentence again, still seeing only words, not putting the meaning together. This paperwork would never get finished if she couldn't get Michael Scofield off her mind. She growled in frustration and slapped the forms down on her desk. The nurse on duty gave her a skeptical eyebrow raised look. Sara just rolled her eyes and refocused. But when she looked down at the white paper with the lines of words, all she saw was that tattoo. That winding maze of ink on warm, soft skin.

Dammit! Sara clenched her teeth and stood, intending to go out for coffee.

"Surprise." The nurse said half sarcastically, half amused as she saw Michael Scofield walk down the hall.

"Oh no." Sara breathed. Michael and the CO entered the infirmary, and Sara led Michael into her room.

"What happened to you?"

There it was, Sara thought, that enigmatic look. That half smile that curves his lips in such an enticing way.

"My celly."

"Fernando? I thought you two were friends?" She asked, confused. Michael, only glad to hear some tone in her voice other than anger, smiled.

"We are. He was just messing around."

"What a pal." She murmured as she dabbed the red scrape on his left cheek. Was it his imagination, or did her gaze keep jumping to his lips and lingering there? Sara glanced up to his eyes, and seeing him catch her staring at his face, her face flushed.

Michael was never prone to impulses. His systematic mind made it impossible. So how was it that now he blurted out anything at all, just to see what she'd say?

"June 26th." He stated.

"What?" Sara almost smiled at the random comment.

"My birthday. June 26th. I just know that was at the top of your burning questions list."

Still leaning dangerously close to him, applying ointment that was not really necessary, Sara grinned.

"Actually, I wanted to know what you meant by married but not in the traditional sense."

Michael suppressed a comment about jealousy, "Nika's an old friend who needed a green card to get away from some trouble in Prague."

After a pause, during which Sara stepped away to clean up; "I should have known. There's no possible way to be mad at you, Michael."

Michael's half smile faded. Deny, deny, deny. He felt his defenses slipping. Whatever happened to his decision not to flirt, or to make jokes or look her in the eye? It had been forgotten almost as soon as it had been made.

Sara, too, seemed to feel the weight of her words. Turning to him, she forced a quick smile. "Anything else?" Her voice was thin, almost strangled with tears. Why did it hurt so much to be close to him, but never close enough?

"Yeah." Michael whispered, and he could almost feel it breaking. His breath was knocked out of him with the force of it. In one sweep, he slid off his chair and scooped Sara into his arms. She was shocked, placing her hands tentatively on his upper arms that were wrapped firmly around her waist, wondering if she should push him away immediately, or allow herself this pleasure for a little while and pretend to be reluctant.

Her gaze was permanently fixed onto his gray blue eyes that suddenly seemed so clear. She read everything in them. He had let go. He had let go of it all for her. The tips of their noses brushed together, and Sara could feel his breath hot on her lips, and her eyes once again drifted down to his mouth.

Michael inched his face a bit closer. He could almost taste her kiss, but this exquisite torture was too delicious to rush. They lingered there for a moment that felt like a thousand years, hovering between reality and fantasy, struggling to let go of professionalism. It was all too easy to give in to him, Sara realized with a vague dread that she did not acknowledge, for the greater presence of anticipation.

Her fingers slid up to his biceps and gripped his shirt tightly, unconsciously pulling his body closer to hers. Sara realized, in a moment of clarity, that Michael was waiting for her, patiently, as patiently as he could when within reach of this thing he'd wanted for so long. He just wanted her to give in to him. And Sara was all too happy to, in that moment.

She nearly lunged at him, closing the miniscule gap of a few inches between their lips. His hands were tangled in her hair, crushing her lips onto his, pushing his tongue greedily over hers.

Determined to make every moment last, Michael pulled back gently and brushed a few light kisses over Sara's lips, to the corners of her mouth, along her jaw line and under her ear. But when a kiss pressed to her throat elicited a deep, throaty sound of pleasure, Michael seemed suddenly confined within his clothes.

Sliding his hands over Sara's shoulders, her white lab coat dropped noiselessly to the ground. Deft, slender hands slid over her breasts to unbutton her blouse. That dropped to the floor, too, and Sara realized again that they were not the only two people in the world.

"Michael." She whispered as a warning, but the sound just made him even more eager, and he pulled her mouth to his for a fevered kiss. His hands slipped around her waist again, this time coming in contact with her smooth, supple skin. Sara took in a sharp breath, and Michael looked up at her face for encouragement. She wore a half smirk and the dark smolder of her brown eyes urged him on. He lowered them to the floor and was cradled between Sara's thighs.

The high exam table hid their view of the door, thankfully. A knock on the door nearly gave them both heart attacks. Sara didn't bother with her shirt as she and Michael whispered hurry ups and be quiets as they pulled her white lab coat onto her and buttoned it up.

She grabbed a tool from the table and stood up, pretending to have retrieved it. Michael did the same, replacing the tool on the table. Sara smiled at the nurse in the doorway.

"Your 3 o'clock is here." She said, with the faintest narrowing of eyes.

"Thanks Katie. I'll just be a few more minutes."

When she left, Sara heaved a sigh and regained her breath. She looked over at Michael, who was bent over the exam table, his body shaking with laughter. Sara chuckled in disbelief, but when Michael looked up at her with tears in his eyes and tried to speak, only to be racked with more laughter, it infected her, too. She was trembling, from passion, from fear, from laughter, until Michael pulled her to him again.

Their laughter quenched as he pressed a sweet kiss to her lips.

"This can't be happening." She whispered.

"What? Falling for me?" He grinned.

"You're an inmate. I'm your doctor."

The sensible, responsible Sara was coming back. Michael cupped her face in his hands. She placed her hands on his arms to deter him, but he held her tighter, pulling her lips to his. She responded with frenzied passion, until Michael was sure he had her attention, and he pulled away.

"I've never felt anything like this before, Sara, you have to believe me."

"I do. I believe you, Michael." She smiled breathlessly.

"No matter what happens, just remember this." Littering kisses generously over her face and neck, Michael wondered who he was. Since coming to Fox River, meeting Sara, he hadn't felt the same. He was not so guarded with her. He trusted her because she wanted to help him. She cared.

Would she understand how much he cared, even when she came to work tomorrow and he was gone?

God, he loved her. Sara, in all her goodness and her glory, pouty lips and secretive eyes. He prayed she wouldn't hate him. When he got to the door to leave, he held her hand a moment longer, and looked into her eyes, which still held the flickers of passion. He wanted to kiss her again, but knew it was too dangerous. So, he just winked, squeezed her hand, and exited. Sara followed him to the nurse's desk, where the CO took him, and before she was out of earshot, he yelled, "I love you, Doc!"

Sara smiled giddily, and the nurse shot her a smirk and an eyebrow raise that almost suggested a playful congratulations.

As she went about her daily routine, nothing seemed routine anymore. Sara smiled all day, hummed her favorite song, and had to be told everything twice. But as she lay in bed that night, nestled comfortably far away from all those criminals that eyed her daily, Sara felt unmistakably cold. It was a hot night for early winter, yet Sara could not warm herself up.

She knew she was coming down off her high, coming out of the bubble of happiness that had protected her from the truth all day. But she still held onto the memory of his kiss. Her passion for Michael was so hot that it melded them together. She had known something so real in her moments with him, that without it, she wasn't whole anymore. Without him, she would never have it any better than those stolen caresses in the infirmary. A tear of self pity escaped her, and it ran over her cheek into her hair.

Dammit, Michael. Look what you've done to me. You've ruined me forever. Why was the perfect man not so perfect after all? How could she have fallen in love with him?

She shivered in the night, and knew she was ruined. The delightful feeling Michael had instilled in her had worn off to reality, and she was stuck with the fact that it could never be. He was a prisoner.

And when she thought about it, she was, too.

* * *

You're right, Abruzzi is not a heartless bastard. He has a family, and was sincerely regretful when his guy killed that little boy. He really was repenting, and T-Bag, worthless scum that he is had to go kill him. Now how are they going to make it on the outside without his plane?

Thank you for reviewing!

El Fin!


	3. Panama

I wasn't going to continue this story, but due to urgings by reviewers, I caved and wrote this.

Panama

Her days were grey. That was the only way she could think of describing it. Tasteless, drab and grey. A few of the nurses noticed her change in demeanor, but as expected, she waved it off as nothing. She was horrified when even the Pope voiced his concerns for her well being. Sara insisted she was perfectly fine, she had just had a rough couple of weeks; had not been sleeping very well.

She grumbled as she threw the coffee pot onto the burner, sloshing boiling liquid onto the counter. Sara hardly noticed. This forced two week vacation was not going to do her any good. All she'd do was sit around, watching old sappy romances and trying not to think about Michael. She savored the hot liquid she sipped from her ugly brown mug as she padded in her slippers through her hollow, empty home.

There was a movie on Lifetime, so Sara grabbed a blanket and got comfortable in front of the television for the second day in a row. The next twelve days were going to be well wasted.

Just when the woman in the movie was about to make her decision between her husband and her lover, the phone rang.

"Dammit!" Sara cursed softly and glanced between the television and the phone across the room. Narrowing her eyes, she dashed for it. "Hello." She said hurriedly, taking the cordless with her back to the couch. There was no answer for a moment.

"He-"

"Sara?"

The voice on the other end clicked and popped with static. She was stunned into silence at the mere prospect of this being true.

"Sara, are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Uh-yeah. Yeah I can hear you." Sara turned the television off and sat very still, as if moving would disrupt the precarious connection, and he would be lost.

"Hi, how are you?" He started uneasily, though she heard the happiness in his voice.

"I'm alright." Sara replied dazedly. "The more pressing question being…how are you?"

Michael laughed and Sara doubled over on the couch, pressing her fingertips to her mouth to suppress a sob. Of happiness, sadness, anger, or all of the above, Sara could not tell.

"I'm good. Lincoln and I…well, we're safe. I just had to call and see how you…well I had to call and hear your voice, actually." He chuckled nervously, and his voice fizzled.

"Where are you, Michael?" Sara barely managed more than a whisper.

"What? The phones aren't that great down here."

"Where are you?" She said louder, and her cheeks started to burn.

"At a bar enjoying twenty five cent beers." He hesitated. "The only thing that could make this any better…is you."

Sara swallowed hard. She wanted to scream at him, tell him how much she hated him for turning her into this pathetic, quivering little girl. Her knuckles turned white on the phone. All she wanted was to shout the speech she'd told herself in her head a million times about how wrong it was for him to do all the things he did. About how he used her and how he hurt her.

But all Sara could say was, "I'm on a two week vacation." She winced at her stupid words.

She heard the sarcastic smile in his voice, "Forced, I suspect."

"Absolutely. The Pope seemed to think something was bothering me." She grit her teeth as she spoke, though she was sure Michael could hear her smile, too.

Someone spoke in the background, and Michael replied in quick Spanish.

"Look, Sara, I've got to go. It was so good to hear your voice again." His tone was low and full of meaning. "Bye Sara."

"Goodbye Michael." She whispered, and held the receiver to her ear long after the line went dead.

Sara spent the rest of the day in front of the television. Not watching the mindless chatter on the screen, but her thoughts were turned inward. She smiled as she played their conversation again in her head. Hearing his voice again was better than it should've been, she knew. She always thought if she ever spoke to him again, which was not likely in the first place, she would be so angry with him she wouldn't even be able to speak.

Instead, she wanted to jump around and do cartwheels. Sara slapped her hand to her forehead, cursing herself for her childishness. She refused to even acknowledge she felt anything for him.

So, Sara jumped up and vacuumed her carpet, organized her closet, and dusted her house from top to bottom.

* * *

She woke with a start, her back damp, pulse racing, hips and legs entangled tightly in her sheets. Sara let her breathing even before pulling herself from the white cotton trap. She walked to the kitchen in her long T-shirt and short shorts before even wondering what it was that caused her to wake in a frenzy.

What was it? Sara stared at the microwave as it wheeled her instant coffee around and around. It had been years since Sara'd had a bad dream. What was it, then?

A movement past her window caught her eye, and Sara saw Jennie, the mail carrier, walk by. The microwave beeped, and Sara mixed herself coffee and took it outside to her mailbox. Cradling her mug carefully in one hand, Sara grabbed a newspaper, a flier, a bill and a postcard from the box.

The postcard had a picture of white sand beaches, and the bluest ocean she'd ever seen. Panama, it said. On the back was written: _Enjoying twenty five cent beers with the fam. Wish you were here_.

No signature.

It didn't need one.

Sara knew it was from him. He was with Lincoln and LJ, his only family, his 'fam' in Panama. He was having the time of his life in tropical paradise. While she was here, a workaholic, no life outside the prison, suffering, without him!

Her coffee mug was dashed to the sidewalk and she stalked inside, throwing the pile of mail on the table. Sara turned in circles for a moment, unsure of what to do with her rage. She clenched her fists and growled, slamming her hands on the table, shouting curses. When one of her shouts turned into a long wail, Sara sunk to the floor. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling fan, tears running into her ears.

Wish you were here.

A sob racked her, and she curled herself into fetal position, arms cradling her head. She was sure she looked like a fool, but what did she care? She was alone.

That was just it: She was alone.

In that moment, Sara made a decision. She would not become a prisoner at Fox River. She would not stay late and study files at home and ignore her own desires. She would not live another second of her life without him.

Twelve hours later, she was on a plane. It wasn't until it landed in Panama that her heart began to pound. It wasn't until she started asking around that her hands began to shake. She checked into a seaside bed and breakfast, set her bags on the bed, and left again.

There was a bar down the street. She'd seen it when her taxi passed by it on their way to the hotel. It was not a typical tourist bar with palm fronds and drinks from a coconut with little umbrellas. This was not the tourist part of the country. Though the floors were made of sand, everything else was just like the bars back home. Not that she'd gone barhopping often. Patrons sat quietly at the bar, some at small circular tables lining the fences that marked the boundaries of the bar.

She scanned their faces, until she found him. She narrowed her eyes. Lincoln.

"Hey Doc." Linc grinned as he saw her approach. "I was hoping I'd see you sometime soon." He sipped his beer.

"Hello Lincoln." Sara said blandly, because she could not at that moment think of anything else. "How are you?"

Linc laughed. "I've never been better."

Sara's expression was grave and she swallowed hard. "Where-"

"He and LJ went to the Crabshack. They'll be back in a few. Hop up." He patted the barstool next to him, and Sara gently slid into it and ordered a beer when the bartender asked. She wiped the condensation from the brown glass with her thumbs, and she felt Lincoln's eyes on the side of her face. "Why did you come, Sara?"

She looked at him. How they could've thought he killed a man was beyond her. His blue eyes just seemed so…good. When he looked at her, she couldn't help but tell the truth.

"I needed to see him." Sara looked out at the water. "He just left so many questions." She said quietly, as if covering for herself.

"Yes he did." Linc killed his beer and ordered another. "Once, when we were kids, Michael and I were at the park. We spent most of our weekends there, since mom had to work. Anyway, one day I was stepping on ants, you know how kids do, and Michael ran up to me. He pushed me off them and said, he was so frantic, "Stop it, Linc, stop it!" I told him they were just ants, they didn't matter. But he told me that there were father ants and mother ants who had son ants and daughter ants. And I was killing them." He chuckled, at himself or at the memory, it was hard to tell. "All day he stood over that ant hill, protecting them. Even then he couldn't stand to see anyone hurt."

Sara smiled. She had to admit that if you could even put Michael in a nutshell, that was it.

"You talking about me again, Linc?" His husky voice came from behind her, and Sara nearly choked on her beer.

* * *

Thank you for the kind reviews!

Aleks


	4. See Me Cry

See Me Cry

"Sara." Michael said in greeting, but she couldn't bring herself to spin around on the barstool to look into his steely blue eyes. If she looked into his eyes, she was afraid she might just fall into his arms and profess her undying devotion. She knew she wouldn't be able to pretend that she wasn't in love with him. Her coming here was a blatant illustration of that fact. God, this was a bad idea. The consequences of the visit seemed to hit her like a smack in the head. Sara squeezed her glass bottle tighter and her breathing became quick and shallow.

Lincoln gave Michael an encouraging pat on the back as he left, taking LJ to a table not too far away. He slid onto the stool next to Sara, and was content to study the profile of her face for a while. She had thrown her auburn hair into a level ponytail, and the hipster jeans and purple camisole she wore under her light jacket was a vast contrast to the professional attire Michael had become accustomed to.

She almost looked like she was on vacation. Except for that almost untraceable sense of agitation that charged the air around her. Anxiety creased her features as she slowly unwrapped her white fingers from the beer bottle.

"Sara?" He whispered gently, and she bit her bottom lip before turning to look at him.

His hair was a little longer, and he was wearing a white T shirt and jeans. But he was still the same Michael. Still had that same enigmatic expression and the same inquisitive eyes. When her mind had refreshed its image of him, something came flashing back to her.

The dream that had woken her the night before played vividly in her imagination. She was running down the docks, knowing she had to get somewhere, only she wasn't sure exactly where. If she didn't make it in time, her life would somehow grind to a painful halt. Her lungs burned, but she pumped her legs even harder, because she heard a boat's horn blowing. She reached the end of the dock just as a large cruise ship departed. Michael stood on the prow, looking back at her, yelling something that sounded like, "Hurry, Sara, come with me." But it was lost in the chugging of the engines, and churning of the water. He was already gone, and she collapsed onto the dock in a sobbing, blubbering mess, a feeling of utmost horror and misery overwhelming her.

Sara swallowed hard as she looked into his face. He seemed lighter now. The darkness that prison cast over the both of them was gone. He was free of everything, and it suited him.

"Hey." She responded, because she'd almost forgotten he'd whispered her name pleading her to say something…anything.

Michael smiled, "I'm glad you came."

"I'm not sure it was such a good idea."

He furrowed his brow, "Why not?"

I may not want to leave, she wanted to say. But she took another sip of her beer and said lamely, "This place is beautiful."

She knew Michael saw through her façade, but he didn't say anything except, "It absolutely is." He ordered a beer, and they sat in silence for a while, not quite sure what to say. What could be said, after what he did to her, after what they'd both gone through?

"I should be mad at you." Sara said suddenly, surprising even herself for voicing her thoughts. She was usually one to keep her personal feelings personal. But it was true that she hadn't been the same since Michael left. She had undergone something unidentifiable…some change in character.

"You have every right to be."

"I should be mad." She repeated. "If I was mad it would be easy to push you away. But I'm not. I can't be, no matter how much I want to."

"Don't push me away, Sara." He begged calmly, his eyes were the only thing to give away his desperation. Which was strange; at Fox River Sara could never have read him like she was able to now. Maybe he felt like he didn't need to hide anything anymore. Maybe he wanted her to see inside him.

"Give me one reason not to." Sara stated coldly. She could refute any reason he gave her. Except for one. Except for the only one she wanted to hear. But he didn't give it to her. Not yet.

"You just got here. You need to enjoy the rest of your vacation."

"And I can't do that without you?"

"No." He stated with a smirk, glad the tension had left their conversation in favor of a playful flirting. Tilting his head up a bit in mock importance, "If you really want to have fun, you need to know the locals."

"Is that so?" Sara grinned.

"Oh yeah. This place is just full of hip things to do." The sarcasm dripped off his words.

"So what have you been doing, Michael?" Sara's tone changed bitterly, and Michael was taken aback. He guessed he had it coming.

"Putting my life back together."

She scoffed, "I never even had a chance to put my life back together after you left. When you touched me, Michael, my life just came together." Sara ground out through clenched teeth, tears filling her eyes. "When you left, it tore me apart. I hated myself for missing you, because I just wanted to be angry at you for finally making me happy and then taking it all away…"

She would've gone off on him, but he interrupted.

"I know you have every right to be mad at me and you're hurt and thinking that I used you and lied to you…and well, I did sort of. Because I just…I had to get him out of there, I would've done anything in the world to save him. But I didn't think I'd have to do anything as hard as leaving you."

Sara had turned toward him, and after a moment of deciding if he was telling the truth, she gently lowered her forehead to rest on his shoulder. Her thighs were warm where his hands rested, though she was fidgeting with her fingers in her lap.

A heavy tear dropped onto his arm, and he placed his hands on Sara's face, so she would look up at him. He wanted to see her cry. You can never tell more about a person than you can when they cry. He rubbed the tears away with his thumbs, and pulled her into an embrace. Her body quivered a little harder, and she tangled her hands in his shirt, pulling him closer.

He held her for a long time, until she stopped shaking, and he pulled away.

"Alright, now?"

She nodded, because she still didn't have the strength to speak. Michael slid off his barstool and took her hands.

"Come with me."

"Where?" Sara breathed.

"Where you're supposed to go on vacation; the beach."

Michael never released her hand as they reached the beach. The moon was all the light they had, and its reflection bounced off the frothy ocean as they meandered through the soft sand.

"The whole time you were in Fox River, I racked my brain to put my finger on what exactly was different about you. When you left I realized you never should have been there at all. It made me feel a little better about my feelings for you. A relationship with a convict is scary, but a relationship with a devoted brother…that's perfect." Sara glanced quickly over at Michael, who was intently watching her struggle for words. "Then it made me angry that I let you slip away, that we had to meet in prison."

"But we're here now." Michael grinned.

"What about when I leave, Michael? We have a little over a week, what then?"

He stopped walking, and pulled her by the hand quickly to him. Sara giggled at the sudden embrace, her arms wrapping around his waist, his hands in her hair. Michael dipped his head down to place a sweet kiss on her lips, then whispered in her ear, "Don't leave."

Sara swallowed hard and slid her hands under his T shirt to run along the warm, smooth skin of his back.

She whispered, "Michael, you can't ask me to do that."

His head was still bent next to her ear, and his breath moved her hair and tickled her neck, "I thought about you every day, Sara. Every day it killed me to be away from you. It killed you too, didn't it?" She was silent. "I don't want to have to go through that again. All I want is you."

"It's not exactly a simple request."

"Do you want to stay?" He leaned back to see her face. Sara was quiet for a while, and Michael was afraid she'd say no.

"Forever." A lump rose in her throat, and her chin trembled. Michael swiftly pulled her to him, pressing kisses down her cheek.

They clung to each other desperately, afraid to let go. Afraid to make one wrong step and have this feeling ripped away from them.

"But I can't, Michael." Her voice was strangled, and she pushed away from him. "I have a job and...and you broke out of prison! You're a wanted criminal...I can't live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, worried about getting caught!" Sara pulled in a ragged breath. "There just aren't enough reasons to stay."

"I love you." He stated, his brow drawn together in an expression she'd never seen. Michael Scofieldwas actually terrified of something. Of losing her. "Isn't that reason enough?"

A sob escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. Michael gently slid his arms around her again, kissing the top of her head. She reached her arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss him. The taste of him sent her back to that day in the infirmary, the last time she saw him before he escaped. The desperation in his eyes made sense to her now. _I've never felt anything like this before, Sara, you have to believe me. _He was trying to make her understand that loving her was an unexpected glitch in the plan. _No matter what happens, remember this._

Sara reluctantly pulled away from his delicious lips, and smiled at him.

"This place is beautiful."

A look of relief flooded them both as Michael smiled and kissed her again, lifting her up in his arms. And Sara laughed, because she was finally free.

* * *

There. No more. End of story. I can't believe you guys conned me into writing two more chapters. I loved it. Thanks so much for the reviews, I hope my scenes flowed together better this time. It kills me that the show won't have new episodes until March! PM orEmail me if you want to chat.

Aleks


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